There is a cardinal that poops on my car every Sunday
morning. Seriously, I am not imagining or exaggerating, and it has been going
on for at least 6 months, probably much longer. (It took me awhile to figure
out what was going on.)
Our church has ample parking, except that, like every
building constrained by the limitations of space and time, there are a limited
number of spaces close to the church on Sunday morning. You can always find a
place to park, but you may have to hike a bit.
Choong-Ho does a wonderful job of teaching our new member class to “park
far, sit close,” thereby leaving the prime church real estate of front-row parking
and back-row seating to visitors, and I quote him frequently. Since I try not
to ask people not to do things that I’m not willing to do myself, I park in the
back corner of the lot by the recycling bins on Sundays.
Every Sunday morning (literally every week) when I pull into
my spot, there is a red cardinal sitting on the rearview mirrors of the other
two cars that park with me in the hinterlands. The bird flies into the trees as
I pull in, and by the time I return to my car in the afternoon, there is a
trail of bird poop on my car beneath my rearview mirror. Every week.
Yesterday, the cardinal was nowhere to be seen when I arrived
at church. I actually found myself worrying a bit about this little fellow.
When I walked out to my car after church, though, there he was. Sitting on my
rearview mirror. As if to greet me, he pooped on my car and flew away while I
watched.
I’ve been trying to make sense of my avian friend’s actions. It seems really unusual that a bird would be
so regular about these weekly visits. If
I belonged to a different faith heritage, perhaps I would consider that my
father has reincarnated into his favorite species and is communicating with me
in the only way now available to him. While I’m not sure exactly when this bird
started visiting my car, it’s possible that it coincides with my father’s
death. However, if that really is the
reality, I’ll have to get on the other side of eternity before I’m convinced.
My main thinking is much more pedestrian, almost
pre-schoolishly petulant. “It’s just not fair. I park all this way away from
the church, putting others’ needs first, hiking through an often-icy parking
lot in a skirt and my church shoes. And
what do I get? Weekly bird poop! Where
is my gold medal? After all, I’m being
selfless and generous and Christian, right?”
Apparently, I do pre-schooler pretty well. At a local
business that I go to most days, the parking lot is crowded. However, the owners of another business
inside the building park their two cars in the closest available spots. How do
I know? They have vanity plates on their cars that have the business’ name on
them. I try to turn off my inner
Pharisee, but I can’t help but think that they care more about their own comfort
than the comfort of their customers.
Right about then, when my superiority starts to run amok,
the better voices in my head chime in. I know there are a lot of folks with
handicap plates on their car that would exchange their disability gladly for a
long walk and a little bird poop. There
are a lot worse things in this world than having to walk across a large parking
lot.
In fact, I have found great blessing parking so far away. I’ve
learned not to bring my laptop on Sundays, so that I don’t have to carry it so
far. As I tread carefully through the icy patches, it reminds me to pray for
the others who will be dealing with that same ice as they come to worship. On my way through the building, I get a chance
to peruse the parking lot for trash and make a quick walk-through to check the
bathrooms.
Which reminds me once again that I need to practice getting
over myself. There is such great joy
that surrounds me every day of my life, if I’ll only see the good stuff. After
all, how many folks have a personal bird to sing them into worship each week?
And if you ever wonder what car your pastor drives, it’s a
cute little red Ford C-Max. You’ll know it’s mine by the bird poop underneath
the rearview mirrors.
